


The Rose and the Magician

by DarkeAngelus



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Friendship, H.I.V.E., Malcolm's Left Hand, Mild Language, No Olicity, Post S04E18 "Eleven Fifty-Nine", Some Humor, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkeAngelus/pseuds/DarkeAngelus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 4.18: Malcolm Merlyn has experienced some personal setbacks lately. His most recent dilemma appears to be trying to make a favorable impression with the cold-hearted HIVE scientist tasked with replacing his left hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rose and the Magician

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This story is strictly pro-Malcolm Merlyn. That's it. If there are enough fans to support this, I'll take it beyond a one-shot.

HIVE’s layout was exactly like its namesake. 

Externally, it was unremarkable. Just a gray colored building with no identification other than a civic number beside the door. The only indication that something might be out of place was the size of the parking lot which was larger than one might expect for such a small establishment. It was only noticeable if someone specifically looked for such cues and the fake “Car Pool Parking” sign beside the lot could be credited for the oversight. 

Exterior security was purposely minimal; just a swipe of a key fob at the scanner beside the doors, which were tinted black. Once past that, everything changed. Dr. Rhosyn Forrest was used to the routine by now. She handed her purse to the stolid security guard posted inside the door and stood with her arms raised while another traced her outline with a metal detector. She stepped through an infrared-detector archway and waited for the all clear from the technician posted at the terminal before reclaiming her purse after it had trundled through the detector and was deemed acceptable. All three guards at this entry point were armed to the teeth with the latest gear and weapons. 

That was Stage One. 

Rhosyn walked over to the lone elevator where another guard stood; blank-faced and imposing. With just a tactic nod of acknowledgment, she placed her hand against an electronic palm-reader where a push button would normally be located. The light behind the glass made a pass and the red light above it turned green. The doors opened. _“Please specify desired level,”_ an electronic voice prompted when she stepped inside. It had a noticeable, irritating buzz to the words. There was no panel for floor selection and she ignored the two CCTV cameras located above the door and in the back of the elevator. One was tracking her every movement while the other scanned her bio-metrics, looking for signs of stress or tampering. This was Stage Two. 

“Level four,” she said clearly and prepared herself for the barely perceivable drop. She really didn’t know how many floors-deep the bunker actually went. Four was her maximum clearance and had more than satisfied her curiosity. She had seen some exceptionally strange things so far in her short one year tenure specializing in bio-organic cybernetics. 

When the doors opened, she had to go through the same routine that had met her topside. She endured the final Stage Three patiently, the guards no more approachable here than the ones before. They had their function and performed it over and over tirelessly, just like drones in an actual hive. 

Once cleared, Rhosyn went down two corridors, both requiring the use of the hand scanner again to gain access and breathed a silent sigh of relief when she entered her designated lab. The day shift guard was a little more approachable than the others and even greeted her with a smile. “Good morning, Doctor Forrest.” 

“Morning Greg. Security seems a little tighter than usual,” she remarked, hanging up her jacket and pulling on a lab coat. 

“Chalk it up to that Iron Heights break-out. Damien Darhk escaped along with twelve inmates. So far, everyone but Mr. Darhk and a man named Michael Amar have been captured.” 

Rhosyn looked at him. “Is that good for us or bad?” 

“Honestly? I’m not sure.” The guard looked a little sheepish. “Far as I know through back channels, Mr. Darhk was supposed to remain right where he was. No one in HIVE is claiming responsibility for the assist.” 

“Could he have done it alone?” 

“Before the Green Arrow captured him, I would have told you, yes. Whatever him and his team did, it seemed to have neutralized Mr. Darhk’s abilities. He would have needed help to get out of maximum security.” 

The doctor had only met Damien Darhk once. She had rounded a corner and there he’d been, staring at her with those piercing blue eyes of his and grinning like a maniac. Her skin had immediately broken out into goose flesh. He was waiting for a report from another lab division that dealt with agriculture and she was grateful not to have to extend more than token civility with him. Even as she quickly returned to her work area, she swore she could feel his eyes crawling all over her like invasive insects. “Between you and me,” she said in a hushed voice. “He strikes me as the sort who has low friends in high places.” 

Greg betrayed a vague smile at the comment, but chose to remain silent. He had said more than enough and it was a well-known fact that the walls had ears. 

Rhosyn picked up her clipboard and made the morning rounds before the rest of the staff showed up for work. Right away she noticed that one of the check-up rooms was unlocked, the panel beside the door glowing green. “Greg?” She called over to the guard. “Did anyone else come in early?” 

“No, just you.” His hand immediately went down to his sidearm. “What’s the matter?” 

She opened the door and saw the lights were on. She also noticed something else. To be more specific: Some _one_. 

“Doctor?” Greg was starting to come over and she leaned out of the room and waved him back. “Everything’s alright. False alarm.” She disappeared inside the room and closed the door. 

“I’ve been called practically everything in the book, but not _that_ ,” Malcolm Merlyn remarked dryly. He was sitting on the examination table obviously waiting for her. 

The pleasant disposition Rhosyn had spared the security guard was gone and she became her more common disposition; professional and directly to the point. “You’re two hours early for your appointment, Mr. Merlyn.” In previous sessions, Malcolm had been dressed in either a suit or impeccable casuals. For some reason, he was presently wearing a menacing olive-colored leather tunic decorated with a hood, studs and black ribbons. It looked like a uniform of some sort but not one she could even begin to place. It was certainly nothing that could be associated with any division of HIVE. 

He was holding a pressure bandage around his left wrist. Grimacing, he said, “I took it for a test drive. There were some... complications.” The normally white gauze under his free hand was dark with blood. 

She immediately pulled on some rubber gloves. “Let me see.” She slowly peeled back the bandage for a look and hissed in displeasure. She glanced at his face, saw what could only be bruises, and quickly put two and two together. “You’re the one who broke Damien Darhk out of jail.” 

“Not one of my prouder moments,” he admitted. 

“For God’s sake why?” 

“My motivations are none of your concern, doctor. Have I done damage to the unit?” 

“Fuck the unit.” At the harsh tone of her voice, Malcolm betrayed a rare expression of shock. “You were limited to minimal usage at this early stage or did I not make myself explicitly clear?” 

Setting his jaw, Malcolm started with, “I was aware of your instructions-“ 

“Then why did you ignore them?” The transition area where his arm ended and the prosthesis that replaced his left hand began was swollen and discolored. “You’ve been fighting.” 

“That would be a fair assessment.” 

“Don’t you be flippant with me,” she scolded, shooting him a glare. It was met with one of equal reproach. “The unit is still forging connections with your severed nerve endings, tendons, ligaments, and muscles. Those transition tendrils are delicate at this stage of development. Do you still have mobility?” 

His brow furrowing with effort, Malcolm made a fist and unclenched it, wiggling the fingers. Sweat appeared on his forehead; the only outward sign of pain. Despite the sight, Rhosyn wasn’t yet moved to offer any word of comfort. She had her area of expertise and didn’t deal well with the living. “You have full function. Surprising. If you hadn’t, do you know what that would mean?” 

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me in great detail,” Malcolm said, his words dripping with spite. 

“This hand isn’t a strap-on. It’s already fully connected to the flesh of your stump. If the unit had been damaged, that would involve severing your arm again-” She made a cut-off motion with her finger several inches above the initial amputation site. “And starting from scratch.” 

“That would be unfortunate,” he said. “Obviously, that’s not the case. What do I need to do?” 

“Well, you’re back to wearing the sling.” She ignored the way his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “The arm needs to be elevated. I can’t deactivate the unit so I imagine that it’s sending feedback to all the connections. Are you in much pain?” 

“Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” 

She rolled her eyes. It was the same bullshit he spouted every time she asked the question. She’d been around enough test subjects to identify radical psychological conditioning when she heard it. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. You can double the dose of the pain-killers I prescribed for the next 24 hours.” 

“I’m not going to take them at all. I was under the influence yesterday and ended up with swords at my throat. I’ll manage without them.” 

“Suit yourself.” She went to the medicine cabinet, prepared two small ampoules with a jet injector and came back. She tugged on the heavy material of his coat. “I’ll need you to take this off so that I can better treat your wrist.” 

He slid off the table and started to fumble with the belt buckle with his right hand. Rhosyn moved in to assist and he recoiled in surprise. “I’m not trying to get into your pants, Mr. Merlyn. I’m simply trying to expedite the removal of this quaint outfit.” 

She could have sworn she saw a ghost of a smile cross his face but it could have been a play of shadows. In all of his sessions with her since he had joined HIVE, the closest thing she had ever seen to an approachable expression on his face was a teasing smirk. As his examination lingered, she snapped, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing significant,” he said, shrugging out of the heavy coat. He winced when he pulled the robotic hand through the sleeve. “You remind me of someone I used to know.” 

“Oh dear lord, don’t tell me it’s your wife.” 

“My wife is dead.” 

“Yes, I know.” 

He pulled off the hooded under-coat and sat back on the table, wearing only a Kevlar vest and the green amulet that hung around his neck. Watching her collect bandages and utensils he said, “It’s not her. My Rebecca was a kind and patient woman.” 

If it was his intention for that remark to sting, he succeeded. She flashed him a resentful look and only got his patented poker face in return. Annoyed, she picked up the needle-free injector and loaded one cartridge. “A local aesthetic so I can work without you flinching,” she said crisply, pressing it against the slightly discolored flesh near his stump and injecting the dosage with a pull of the trigger and a hiss of air. 

“As if,” he sniffed, looking away from her. 

“And an antibiotic,” she said, changing the cartridge with deft fingers and shooting him in the bicep with no subtly. If she expected him to flinch or even voice protest to the abrupt treatment, she was disappointed. In their past appointments, Merlyn had proven to be true to his word and virtually unresponsive to pain. 

Not dwelling on the matter, she still decided to wait for the numbing agent of the local to take affect. She plugged a wireless connection into a tiny port located on the side of the hand and picked up a tablet, examining the readout. There was a graph display that tracked its usage and she noted that between 10:30 pm and midnight, there was clear indication of intensive use. The spikes in the graph, indicating impact and over-extension, went up into the red. 

“You’ve certainly been busy,” she finally remarked, breaking the silence. As much as she resented his biting sarcasm, the aura he radiated when quiet bothered her even more. He wasn’t anywhere near Darhk’s level of creepy, but there was an unsettling aura about him nonetheless. As an olive branch, she added, “Whatever you got up to, I’m pleased to see that it did no permanent damage.” 

He accepted the unspoken apology. “Once, not so long ago, I had the means to grow the hand back.” 

She had put on reading glasses earlier and peered at him over the rim. “Is that so?” 

“Yes, but that respite fell prey to sabotage. Now I have to rely on _this_.” He flexed the pseudo fingers, looking at the unit in disgust. 

Rhosyn betrayed a flash of anger. “It’s almost close to the real thing.” 

“Almost,” he parroted. “It’s still a liability. I’ll never be as good with my particular skill set.” 

She saw the sheathed sword lying on the counter. “Perhaps not. And perhaps... you just might be better.” 

He snapped his eyes to hers. “How so?” 

“With time and experience, you’ll realize that this unit doesn’t weaken or fatigue. It will maintain consistent grip strength, not falter or tremble. It should actually become stronger than your real one.” 

The doubting skepticism was clear on his face. Before he could make any remark, there was a buzz from his cell phone and he leaned over and pulled it from an inside pocket of his tunic. He regarded the tinny display and the tense set of his shoulders dropped. Rhosyn could tell it was bad news but knew it wasn’t her place to ask any questions. 

Malcolm put the phone back and watched the doctor start to treat the injuries he had done to his wrist. He suddenly said, “ADA Laurel Lance is dead.” 

“Wasn’t she tasked with prosecuting Damien Darhk?” 

“Yes. He killed her.” 

She stopped what she was doing and looked directly at him. “How do you know that?” 

Averting his eyes for the first time that morning, he said in a subdued tone, “Because I watched him do it.” 

Unable to process the statement, Rhosyn could only say, “... what?” 

“He stabbed her with an arrow while I stood on the sidelines.” His lips thinned out to two bloodless lines as he clenched his teeth. “She once dated my son. Of all of them, she was the only one who volunteered to work with me when my daughter was kidnapped. I respected her and she deserved a better end than by Darhk’s hand.” 

There was tense silence for a moment before she asked, “Could you have stopped him?” 

Glowering at the far wall, he said, “I’m one of the people who set him free.” 

“That’s not what I’m asking. Could you have stopped him from killing Ms. Lance?” 

He paused for thought, remembering how effortlessly Darhk had thrown Diggle and Thea against the prison wall. Only Oliver had managed to slip his arcane control and, even then, for only a few seconds. Damien had been at full power and reveling in it like an addict who had been spared from withdrawal and finally gotten his fix. 

After quickly evaluating all the possibilities, Malcolm finally shook his head. “No.” 

Rhosyn went back to treating his wrist. “Trying to fathom your motivations for assisting him are far above my pay grade, Mr. Merlyn. It’s honestly none of my business-“ 

“No, it is not,” he assured her. 

She shot him a hard look. “Regardless, as your _doctor_ I’m advising you to keep your distance.” 

“Concern for my welfare, Ms. Forrest? I didn’t think you cared.” 

“I don’t. My concern is primarily for the unit. Unfortunately for me, it’s attached to someone I have no choice but to associate with.” 

A slow smile crept across Malcolm’s face, bringing out the dimples in his cheeks. He was very handsome and in exceptional physical shape for a man of his age. There was a dark, roguish charm to his personality that he exuded with confidence. Rhosyn took all of that information in, compartmentalizing it for later evaluation, and retained her professional detachment with more difficulty than she would have thought possible. She only knew the basics of who he was; Former CEO of Merlyn Global Group, alleged to have orchestrated the destruction of the Glades where over five hundred people had died. He was publicly listed as deceased. 

 _Pretty damn lively for a corpse,_ she thought grimly, finished with cleaning the site and beginning to bandage his wrist. “I don’t want you to move your arm for the next two days.” 

“I’ll try, but circumstances may challenge that restriction.” 

“Circumstances be damned.” She was thinking about what’d he’d said about nearly getting his throat cut. She wasn’t sure what activities the he was getting up to after dark but, judging by his weapon and outfit, she didn’t think it was business related. At least, not anymore. “Find some hole and crawl into it for the next two days. I have absolutely no desire to design and fit you with another prosthesis that starts at your elbow. Do we understand each other, Mr. Merlyn?” 

He looked down and it wasn’t until she followed his gaze that she became aware that she was holding his forearm in a tight grip. She pulled her hand back and continued to bandage his wrist. If her cheeks felt warmer than normal, she credited it to the nearby heater. 

Malcolm arched one brow. “You _could_ call me Malcolm if you prefer.” 

“And you _could_ call me Rose,” she shot back. “But that endearment is strictly reserved for friends and you aren’t one. Let’s continue to keep our relationship professional, shall we?” 

If he was disappointed, his face didn’t show it. In fact, he looked more amused than before. “As you wish,” he said, sliding off the table when she was done. He stood and continued to stare at her until Rhosyn finally asked; “Well? What are you waiting for?” 

“Your instructions were clear. I’m not to use the unit, so that makes me one-armed for the duration.” He picked up his black undercoat with his right hand and held it up to her. 

She couldn't believe the audacity. “You want me to ...dress you?” 

Malcolm’s mischievous smirk simply broadened. 

Rhosyn glowered back and there were several seconds of tension before she permitted herself a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’d be delighted to assist.” Gently, she helped him pull on the coat and heavy tunic, paying considerable attention not to jostle his ailing left hand any more than necessary. It wasn’t until she slid the belt around his waist that she gave in to her anger and pulled the length of leather though the buckle with one hard yank. He actually betrayed an uncomfortable grunt. 

“Too tight?” She asked sweetly. 

“No, it’s fine,” he said in a choked voice and then huffed out a rare chuckle. “Alright. Maybe you could loosen it a notch?” 

Wearing a slanted smile of accomplishment, she did so. It dawned her that it had been quite some time since she’d had her hands anywhere near a man’s belt, let alone south of that region. Too damned long, actually. 

 _Keep your mind on your job_ , _Rose_ , she reminded herself. “I’ll see you back here tomorrow at 8 am.” 

“That’s fine.” He walked over and retrieved his sword. It was sheathed and had a wicked-looking hand-guard along the hilt. Rhosyn didn’t know weapons very well but thought it might be a scimitar judging by the elegant design. Malcolm caught her looking at it and told her, “This is one of the first weapons I was trained on.” 

“I’m almost scared to ask how many the total is.” 

“It’s an easy answer,” he said, walking towards the door. “All of them. Until tomorrow, Doctor Forrest.” He passed her a respective tip of his head and left the room, closing the door after him. 

Alone, Rhosyn placed her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling, letting out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in. Dealing with the enigmatic man always left her frustrated for no clear reason, but this time he had managed to leave her feeling flustered in the bargain. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath. “I am not going to let you get under my skin. No way in Hell.” 

The only thing she could think of to one-up him (and get in the final word) was to tell him to at least have the consideration to bring her a cup of coffee tomorrow. A big one. The most expensive variant that Starbuck’s sold. She stepped out of the examining room and looked around the corner, calling out to the guard by the entrance. “Greg, would you call Mr. Merlyn back, please?” 

The man, a season veteran of HIVE, betrayed a rare look of confusion. “Merlyn? _Malcolm_ Merlyn? He’s here?” There was a lot of buzz in his Security division about the sudden appearance of the supposedly-dead businessman and his association with Damien Darhk. Some thought they were allies while others thought it was just the opposite. The only thing that seemed clear was that each man had their own personal agenda. 

“He _was_ ,” Rhosyn said. “You didn’t see him?” 

“No, Ms. Forrest. The only one I’ve seen since I came on duty is you.” 

She was rendered mute by the comment. She had known Greg for over a year and knew he was exceptionable at his job. He wasn’t negligent and couldn’t be bribed. If what he had told her was true (and she had no reason to believe otherwise), Malcolm had simply ...disappeared. 

“Son of a bitch,” she said again in a wondering voice, looking around the empty lab. 

Greg was stunned to see her smiling.

 

* * *

 


End file.
